Rules and Expectations
Clint woke up to the distinct sound of AC/DC blasting through hidden speakers. It was the kind of volume you’d expect at a rock concert, not at seven in the morning.
He shot upright, his heart pounding. “What the hell, Stark?!”
Tony, already fully dressed in a tailored suit with a cup of coffee in hand, turned to face him. “Good morning, sunshine! Thought I’d start the day with some energy. You’re welcome.”
“Energy?” Clint groaned, rubbing his eyes. “That’s a heart attack you’re talking about. And who the hell wakes up like this?”
“People with ambition,” Tony said with a smirk, sipping his coffee. “Also, I’ve got a board meeting at 8:00. Some of us have to keep the world running, Barton.”
Clint grabbed his pillow and lobbed it at Tony, who caught it effortlessly. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Sorry, no can do. You’re living on Stark Standard Time now, which means you’re officially part of my morning routine. Friday, coffee for the guest.”
A robotic voice chimed in overhead. “Certainly, Mr. Stark. Black or with cream and sugar, Mr. Barton?”
Clint groaned louder. “Black. And if this is your morning routine, I want out of it.”
“Too late,” Tony said with a grin. “You’re already in the system.”
Clint flopped back onto the bed, groaning dramatically. He wasn’t sure how much more of Tony’s particular brand of chaos he could handle.
By the time Clint dragged himself out of bed, Tony was gone. The quiet was a relief, though Clint couldn’t shake the feeling that Tony’s absence somehow left the room feeling… emptier. He shook the thought away as he rummaged through his duffel bag for clothes.
After a quick shower, Clint wandered downstairs to the kitchen, where Natasha was nursing a cup of tea and scrolling through something on her tablet. She looked up as he entered, one eyebrow raised.
“How’s the new living arrangement?” she asked, smirking.
“Terrible,” Clint replied, grabbing an apple from the counter. “He blasted AC/DC at full volume to wake me up. Who does that?”
Natasha chuckled. “Sounds about right. Tony’s an acquired taste.”
“More like a permanent headache,” Clint muttered, taking a bite of the apple.
“Give it time,” Natasha said, her tone more serious now. “You might actually learn to like him.”
Clint snorted. “Doubt it. The guy’s insufferable.”
Natasha didn’t respond, but the knowing look she gave him made Clint shift uncomfortably.
That evening, Clint returned to Tony’s room to find the billionaire sprawled on the couch, wearing sweatpants and a faded MIT hoodie. He had a tablet in one hand and a glass of whiskey in the other.
Clint blinked. “What happened to the suit?”
Tony glanced up. “What, you think I wear that 24/7? I have layers, Barton. Depths.”
“Sure you do,” Clint said, dropping onto his bed. “What are you working on?”
Tony held up the tablet. “Just designing some upgrades for my armor. You know, boring genius stuff.”
Clint rolled his eyes. “You ever take a break?”
“This is my break,” Tony said, gesturing to the whiskey. “Multitasking is my superpower.”
Clint couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, here you are,” Tony said, smirking. “Admit it, you’re starting to enjoy my company.”
“Don’t push your luck,” Clint said, though there was no heat behind his words.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the hum of Tony’s gadgets filling the room. For the first time since this arrangement started, Clint felt himself relaxing. Maybe, just maybe, living with Tony Stark wouldn’t be so bad after all.
As the days went on, Clint found himself adjusting to Tony’s quirks. Sure, the guy was obnoxious and cocky, but he was also funny, brilliant, and—on rare occasions—genuinely thoughtful. Like the time he noticed Clint’s bowstring was fraying and casually handed him a replacement, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.
“You’re welcome,” Tony had said when Clint tried to thank him. “I didn’t do it for you; I did it for the team. Can’t have you missing your shots.”
Clint had just rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips.
One night, as they sat on the balcony overlooking the compound, Tony handed Clint a beer without a word. They sat in companionable silence, the city lights twinkling in the distance.
“You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be,” Clint admitted, breaking the silence.
Tony grinned. “High praise coming from you. Does this mean I’ve officially won you over?”
“Don’t push it,” Clint said, but there was a hint of warmth in his voice.
Tony clinked his bottle against Clint’s. “To unlikely roommates.”
Clint rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “To surviving this nightmare.”
Neither of them noticed how close they’d shifted toward each other, the distance between them shrinking with every passing day.